"Back, back! Twelve to one—cowards, cowards!"
The Bedes fell back as the youth fell among them, and cleared a passage to Paul. Paul, momentarily stunned by his fall, breathed freely again, and leapt to his feet.
"Why, it's Percival!" said the new-comer. "Are you hurt?"
Paul could scarcely believe his eyes, as he found himself again confronting Gilbert Wyndham.
"No, thanks," he answered stiffly.
He would rather have been indebted to any one than to Wyndham. He had wished to clear off the debt between them, but instead of that he found himself more indebted to him than ever. For a second time he had been placed under an obligation to him.
"You don't see who it is, Wyndham," came a voice from the ranks of the Bedes, disappointed of their prey. "It's a Gargoyle—the wretched Gargoyle who showed such a clean pair of heels at the sand-pit."
"Yes, I do see who it is; but, whoever he is, that's no reason why a dozen of you should set on him at once. That's not fair play, Murrell."
"Half a dozen of 'em set on me," came the voice of Mellor. "What's good enough for the Gargoyles ought to be good enough for us."
"That's just where you're wrong, Mellor," answered Wyndham coolly. "What's good enough for a Gargoyle isn't good enough for a Bede—is it, Bedes?"